


diamonds & rust

by king_edmund



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, M/M, Marauders' Era, Songfic, Tragic Romance, Witchcraft, abelard and heloise WHOMST?? romeo and juliet WHOOOMST?, joan baez - Freeform, who even writes songfic in 2018 but like ok i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_edmund/pseuds/king_edmund
Summary: its all come back too clearly/ yes I loved you dearly(or, a glimpse into the worst heartbreak ever known)***2019 Hugo Award Winner, Best Related Work





	diamonds & rust

_well i'll be damned_  
_here comes your ghost again_  
_but that's not unusual_  
_it's just that the moon is full_  
_and you happened to call_

Remus has been shaking the apparition out of his head for months, catching sight of the dog around every corner, sprawled on the lake shore or chasing birds through the edge of the forest. He sees him in flashes, waking to a waning moon in his office, Padfoot curled under his desk.  
Standing over Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, Remus still isn't sure he's not going mad, the curse of the job finally getting to him. Vaguely, as if in another room, he can hear the children shouting, but he can't resist the temptation to reach out, to see if Sirius will take corporeal form, if he'll be warm to the touch.

_and here i sit_  
_hand on the telephone_  
_hearing a voice i'd known_  
_a couple of light years ago_  
_heading straight for a fall_

The veil follows him back to Grimmauld Place, wrapping tight around his heart, fluttering with every breath. It insulates him, the thin gauze holding him steady through the aftermath, until finally he can sit alone on the edge of their bed, sheets still mussed, Sirius' clothes thrown haphazard over the floor. Even through the veil, Remus can feel the room is dead, empty of Sirius' workings, wards carved into the windowsills, talismans and trinkets lying inert on every available surface.  
When he dreams, the veil follows, just out of reach, and Remus can only wait on the other side, for Sirius to tumble through. Remus listens, carefully, hopelessly, to the whispers, but the voices remain unfamiliar.

_as i remember your eyes_  
_were bluer than robin's eggs_  
_my poetry was lousy you said_  
_where are you calling from?_  
_a booth in the midwest_

"I wrote to you," Sirius rasps, his voice nearly unfamiliar with disuse and the sea. "Every day, I wrote letters. I wanted to know how your day was, how Harry was coming along, what you were reading. What peacetime was like."  
Remus steals a glimpse at his face, faraway and terrible, and finds he can't form words.  
"I remember all of your replies, all the 'fine, Sirius' and 'missing you,' the pictures you sent of Harry's first steps, of his first day at Hogwarts. You were so proud," Sirius says, and without looking Remus can hear the wistful smile in his voice. "Peace suited you, better than it would've me. 'Come home soon,' you'd write, and I'd promise, 'as long as you keep a light in the window for me.'"  
Remus chokes on the misery climbing up out of his chest, agony untempered by relief and reunion.

_ten years ago_  
_i bought you some cufflinks_  
_you brought me something_  
_we both know what memories can bring_  
_they bring diamonds and rust_

"For the wedding," Remus mutters, cheeks hot, and Sirius grins, pulling the little silver pieces from their velvet box. "You said you didn't have any."  
"Aw, Moons, you do listen when I talk," Sirius teases, and Remus looks away, unable to bear his mockery. "I didn't get you anything," Sirius continues, making a show of rustling through the pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out half-smoked squares and receipts and bits of broken feathers. "Here," he says, and Remus looks down at the lighter in Sirius' outstretched hand, carved with wards and runes, mostly useless in brass rather than cold iron.  
"I'm touched," Remus manages, tone carefully wry.  
"You will be," Sirius winks, tossing the cufflinks aside in favor of pulling Remus onto his lap. Remus tries not to flinch at the sound of three weeks' pay rolling under the nightstand, instead leaning into Sirius' touch, ever forgiving.

_well you burst on the scene_  
_already a legend_  
_the unwashed phenomenon_  
_the original vagabond_  
_you strayed into my arms_

The boy laughs, nearly tripping over the entrance to the common room, his wool trousers ripped and dirtied at the knee. Professor McGonagall steadies him by the back of his robes, unbuttoned and unmarked. A first year, then, like him, but he hadn't been at the Sorting Ceremony.  
McGonagall whispers something at him, serious and feirce, but the boy just laughs again, turning his attention to the crowded room.  
"Oi, Black!" The boy on Remus' left--James Potter, he thinks--waves the new arrival over, grinning. "Mum said you'd run off to join a muggle commune," he says, and Black throws himself onto the couch, not seeming to mind the intrusion into Remus' space.  
"Tried to," Black says. "Got nabbed right off the Knight Bus."  
"Shame that," James says. "Better luck next year."

_and there you stayed_  
_temporarily lost at sea_  
_the Madonna was yours for free_  
_yes the girl on the half-shell_  
_could keep you unharmed_

He lights candles, every night for thirteen years, a novena in the window of every shit motel room and rotten flat. When times are good, he buys them in bulk, a ten pence a piece from whatever muggle corner store is closest.  
Black magic, Sirius had called it, laughing, when Remus had asked, the flickering light greeting him after a long few months undercover. "Good news for weary travelers," Sirius murmured, cupping a hand around the candle's glass and blowing it out, "offering shelter and safety, calling them home."  
He doesn't want Sirius to come home, but he doesn't want him anywhere else, either. Remus hopes he'll pick up the paper and see his face, read news of his death. It's Sirius' soul he wants, his heart, the parts of him suitable for salvation.

_now i see you standing_  
_with brown leaves falling all around_  
_and snow in your hair_  
_now you're smiling out the window_  
_of that crummy hotel_  
_over washington square_  
_our breath comes out white clouds_  
_mingles and hangs in the air_  
_speaking strictly for me_  
_we both could have died then and there_

Sirius exhales, his foggy breath mixing with smoke to obscure his winter-chapped lips for a few wretched moments. Remus tucks a finger through his belt-loop, pulling Sirius close. He smiles, dropping his cigarette into the snow at their feet, taking Remus' face in his icy hands. They kiss, and Remus could have only this for a lifetime, Sirius tasting like stale tobacco and bad coffee and a moonless night.

_now you're telling me_  
_you're not nostalgic_  
_then give me another word for it_  
_you who are so good with words_  
_and at keeping things vague_

"Can you still love me?" Remus doesn't ask, caging his doubt deep beneath his ribs, watching Sirius shave in the weak electric light of his flat's tiny bathroom. The candle in the bedroom window is cold, and Remus had pretended not to see the look on Sirius' face as he blew it out.  
Remus doesn't know what to do with thirteen years of betrayal, with the men they are now, abject and torn asunder. He doesn't remember who they were, can't see clearly the boys they used to be. Sirius catches his gaze as he dries his face, looks him over with a smile like a warm memory.  
"Enjoying the show?" Sirius asks, and Remus shrugs, casual, uncaring, unafraid as Sirius crosses back to him, standing between his legs, Remus' threadbare robe threatening to fall open.  
Sirius runs a thin hand through Remus' thinning hair, strokes his scarred and weathered cheek. Remus can't breathe, can't move, can't blink and disrupt the mirage. "I love you," Sirius murmurs, and a great, gasping sob wrenches itself from beneath Remus' ribs, pushing them apart and exposing his battered, cursed heart. Remus weeps against Sirius' chest, feeling everything he'd forgotten or torn out, Sirius' touch carefully piecing him back together.

_'cause i need some of that vagueness now_  
_it's all come back too clearly_  
_yes i loved you dearly_  
_and if you're offering me diamonds and rust_  
_i've already paid_

Without a body, there's no need for a wake, no pyre to build. Remus mourns alone, nine nights of his grief under a yew tree, burying the only ashes he can muster, tokens and memories and the final few pieces of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> my whole week has just been like "dental plan!/lisa needs braces!!" except it’s "joint christmas present!/lie low at lupins!!"


End file.
